Archer's Lady: Bloodhounds, Book 3

by Moira Rogers

  “I know. I wasn’t always a fighter.” She wrapped an arm around Grace’s shoulders. “But I can tell you, it’s no easier from this side. Not knowing if you’ll be coming home… It’s enough to keep a person alone.”

  “Oh.” Maybe she did need a few hours of sleep. Her brain was painfully slow, even though Diana had done everything but draw her a map. “I understand.”

  “The path of least resistance,” Diana murmured. “Don’t fall into that trap, honey.”

  Grace returned Diana’s embrace. “If there’s one thing you can count on me doing, it’s avoiding the easy path.”

  “I knew I liked you for a reason.”

  “Only just the one?” Grace teased as she pulled back. “The good Lord knows it’s not my housekeeping skills. I’ve been unfolding and refolding this same blanket for half the morning.”

  “Because you have other things on your mind.”

  “I might.” She gave the task up as hopeless. “Let’s go outside. At least we can get some fresh air until Archer returns. We’ve both spent too much time trapped inside.”

  Diana swept up the blanket and folded it in a few quick, efficient movements. Then she set it down and offered Grace her arm with a flourish. “You were saying?”

  Laughing, Grace looped her arm through Diana’s. “Unfair. You have a seamstress’s flair for fabric.”

  “And the upper hand,” Diana added. “After all, this wasn’t my first new moon.”

  Yes, Grace decided as Diana tugged her out into the sunlight. She would give herself leave to be flustered and distracted after three exhausting days. It had been her first new moon. And maybe, with a little luck, it wouldn’t be her last.

  The sun had already crested in the sky and begun to dip toward the western horizon when Archer rode back into Crystal Springs. He took care of his horse first, then drew a fresh bucket of water from the well beside the stable and dunked his head in it.

  “Everything quiet out toward Doc’s place?” Cecil’s voice drawled from behind him.

  “Dead still.” And all the more frightening for it. “Thought the place might be crawling with ghouls today, but nothing doing. I even followed the tunnel back through to its source.”

  “Anyplace interesting?”

  “A shanty outside town.” The structure was weathered, falling apart, but it had new tar paper on the roof and walls, as if it had been prepared as a staging point for the digging. Just in case, he’d used some of the precious dynamite from the small store in his packs to bring the whole thing down, including the tunnel. “Anyone here have anything to report about the new moon?”

  “Not a peep.” Cecil pulled off his hat and leaned against a bale of hay, taking weight off his bad leg. “Worst I had to deal with was people grumbling by the second night that it was perfectly safe to return to their own beds.”

  “I guess they were focused on Doc’s place.” Which begged the question—how many more were there, biding their time and waiting for another chance?

  Cecil seemed to be wondering the same thing. “I suppose there’s never any good way of knowing if you’ve killed the last one, is there?”

  “For me, old man, there’s no such thing.”

  Sympathy stood plainly in the old man’s gaze. “I hope that Guild of yours offered you something awful sweet in return for fighting a war that can’t be won.”

  “I’m alive.” There was nothing beyond that, and no way to explain that sometimes it didn’t seem worth it, not at all. “Have you seen Grace?”

  “She was about with Diana this morning, but I think she might have gone back to the saloon for something to eat and a bit of rest.”

  Cecil delivered the last words with a hint of protective challenge, and Archer grinned at him. “Got something to say?”

  The old man actually flushed, but he held his ground. “If you plan to break that girl’s heart, have mercy on her and do it clean and fast. Don’t string her along just so you’ll have a warm bed until this is over.”

  The words should have shamed him, but Archer felt only relief that Grace had one more person looking out for her. “That isn’t a game I’d play,” he said finally, “not with a proper lady like Grace. Do you understand?”

  “She’s a proper lady,” Cecil agreed easily. “I reckon most of those in town old enough to understand the new moon think she did them all a favor, keeping you close at hand. In fact, I reckon most are wondering right about now if they can convince you to stay for the next twenty or so years.”

  The notion brought him up short. It was the single thing he’d never considered, and why would he? His life belonged to the Guild. If it didn’t, he’d never have met Grace at all. “I’m not the one who gets to decide that, Cecil.”

  “Well, that’s a damn shame.” Straightening, Cecil dropped his hat back onto his head. “If you ever figured out a way to stay, or a reason, Crystal Springs would surely welcome you.”

  “I’ll bear it in mind, old man.” Archer dried his hand on his trousers and held it out. “Just in case, though, it’s been a pleasure knowing you.”

  Cecil smiled and clasped Archer’s hand with gnarled fingers. “Same to you, young buck.”

  The first floor of the saloon was dark and quiet. Archer headed up to Grace’s room and knocked. After a few moments of silence, he caught a mumbled invitation so quiet no human would have heard it, and he opened the door.

  She was curled up, sleepy and soft, on the bed. He sat beside her and pushed her hair away from her forehead. “Good afternoon.”

  She smiled without opening her eyes. “Afternoon already? Someone should have dragged me out of bed by now.”

  “You needed the sleep.” After the new moon, sheer physical exhaustion must have been clawing at her. “Rest well?”

  “Well enough.” She reached across the bed and twined her fingers with his. “I missed you, though.”

  He lifted her hand to his cheek. “I may as well have stayed with you for all I discovered.”

  “Diana told me that the telegraph lines had been cut. It must have been during the new moon, but we have no way of knowing if they did it before they attacked, or if there are more vampires out there.”

  There were always more, wasn’t that what he’d told Cecil? “I think it’s safe to assume they’ll be planning something.”

  “We should gather the farmers back into town, if we can.” Her lips ghosted across his palm in a barely there kiss as she sat up, still adorably disheveled in spite of her serious expression. “This is always the hardest part. A few days pass with no deaths, and they tell themselves that it’s over because they need to believe it.”

  “I know.” He ached to do something more proactive, to take the fight to those bastards like the predator he was. Only prey waited like this. “We’ll figure out how to keep everyone safe.”

  Grace settled her cheek against his shoulder with a sigh. “I’m just pleased you’re here to argue with the men so I don’t have to. Farmers can dig in their heels like no other sort, especially when it comes to leaving their fields.”

  They were talking about the obstinacy of men when he could be gone in a day or two. “Grace—”

  “Archer!” It was Cecil’s roar, loud enough to thunder up the stairs as he thumped up them as quickly as his uneven gait allowed. “Grace! Both of you get out here now.”

  Archer grabbed Grace’s hand, sprang off the bed and opened the door. “What is it?”

  “Ghouls hit a farm on the northwest side of town. Took a whole family, but the man escaped and got back here.”

  “Took them where?” he demanded as he hurried down the stairs. “Does he know?”

  Cecil shook off Grace’s attempt to guide him to a chair and started toward the kitchen. “He’s in here with Cook. She’s trying to keep him from snatching up the nearest gun and galloping back out there. They’re holed up in caverns somewhere?”

  Caverns. That left open the very real possibility their witness had been in the vampires’ lair.
Archer told himself the man could be bait, that it could all be a trap, but it didn’t matter. He beat Cecil to the kitchen and eyed the trembling man with a mixture of sympathy and feral curiosity.

  He could be the key. The trail of bread crumbs that led right back to the vampires.

  Diana burst through the back door. “Jake just told me.”

  Grace arrived at Archer’s side at the same time. “Mr. Brown, I know you’re anxious to go back, but if you tell our two bloodhounds what happened, from the beginning, they represent the best hope of saving your family.”

  The farmer—Brown—was a middle-aged man with the look of someone used to hard work. He’d been roughed up enough to wear a convincing number of bruises and scrapes, but that still didn’t mean he wasn’t bait.

  His words only made the possibility stronger. “There were dozens of them. Ghouls everywhere I looked, and vampires too. Four that I saw, but maybe more. Don’t know how I got away, but I don’t care. I’m going back there, with or without you.”

  Archer shook his head. “That all depends, Mr. Brown. Can you keep your head? ’Cause if you can’t, all you’ll be doing is endangering your family.”

  He fairly trembled with effort, but he stayed seated. “What do you want to know?”

  “Can you tell us where they are? Anything about the cave system, landmarks?”

  The farmer looked to Diana. “You know that cave past Elijah’s western field? The one the boys were sneaking out to three summers back? Someone’s knocked a hole through the back wall, and it leads down into a whole mess of underground caverns.”

  “I know it.” Her voice gentled. “Will you wait here? I swear I’ll do everything in my power to bring Sarah and the girls back safe.”

  When Diana offered nothing more, the man turned to Grace, who eased past Archer to kneel in front of Brown. She took both of the man’s hands in her own and waited until he met her gaze. “They’re bloodhounds,” she said quietly. “The rest of us are only distractions. Let them do what they do best.”

  He still looked wild-eyed, but after a moment he nodded. Grace rose and glanced at Cook. “Give him something from Cecil’s stash to settle his nerves, please.”

  Diana dragged Archer out the back door. “Ten to one, it’s a trap,” she whispered.

  “I know.”

  Her eyes were wide, and her chest heaved. “We’re going anyway, right?”

  She was as eager to meet the threat head-on as he was. “If anything, they’re expecting one hound, not two. Especially not two bearing some of the finest weaponry the Inventors Guild has to offer. We’re going.”

  Grace stepped out and closed the door carefully behind her. She looked from Diana to Archer, then closed her eyes. “I won’t tell you he’s bait, because you must know. And I won’t tell you to be careful, because of course you will.” When she opened her eyes again, her gaze found Archer’s, her eyes wide and desperate. “Come home to me. To us. We’ll be waiting for you.”

  Archer ignored Diana, slipped his hand into Grace’s hair and pulled her close for a quick, desperate kiss. “I’ll be back. I promise.”

  “You’d better be,” she whispered fiercely. She slipped away from him and hugged Diana, murmuring into her friend’s ear. When Grace pulled back, her eyes were bright but clear. “Go. Cecil and I will get everyone in the building in case someone means to cause mischief while you two are busy.”

  “Lockdown,” he agreed. “It shouldn’t be necessary, but just in case.” If the creatures meant to kill everyone in town as well as capture or battle Archer, there were easier ways.

  “Just in case.” She touched his arm one last time and ducked back into the saloon.

  Diana cursed. “It’ll be dark by the time we reach the farm, but barely.”

  “Doesn’t matter. If we’re going underground, there’ll be bloodsuckers. Question is, how many?”

  She shrugged. “Ten? A hundred?”

  Archer loosed his hold on the monster within and growled through a grin. “I like those odds. Let’s go.”

  Chapter Ten

  The children were used to being gathered in the windowless room by now. A few of the older boys who still lived on farms with their parents seemed liable to start a protest about lessons after dark, however—at least until Cook appeared with a plate full of sweets.

  Their parents were less easily won over, so Grace left the children in Cook’s capable, bribe-filled hands and went to find Cecil. “Has everyone arrived?”

  “Most.” He sighed heavily. “You seen Jacob?”

  He hadn’t been with the youngsters, but he was more often found haunting the edges of whatever conversation the older men were having. She glanced across the crowded tables in the common room as if Cecil might have missed spotting the boy and groaned. “You don’t think he’s gone out after them, do you?”

  The old man paled. “Christ, I hope not.”

  Jacob’s hero-worship hadn’t abated, due mostly to Archer’s gruff but tolerant attitude toward the boy. Riding after his hero might seem like an adventure, but hopefully Jacob knew better. “He’s just holed up somewhere. You know how he likes to play lookout.”

  “You mean he likes to play hound,” Cecil snapped, then shook his head. “Jesus, Grace. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” she retorted, bracing her hands on her hips. “I should have taken more responsibility for what the boy did with his time, but I was too busy swearing it wasn’t my place. Maybe I should have made it my place.”

  “He’s headstrong, and he’d likely fight a woman’s influence even more. He needs a father, just like half the kids left in this town. And they’ve got no one.”

  No, she wouldn’t let herself walk the dangerous path of those thoughts. She was no sort of maternal figure, not when it mattered past school lessons and practical needs. And Archer—

  He’d already warned her he had little enough to offer a woman. No need to start building imaginary families with him. “They have you, Cecil. Don’t discount that.”

  He opened his mouth to reply, but his nostrils flared and he held up one wrinkled hand instead. “Do you smell that?”

  The scent of smoke in the air was unmistakable. Her heart pounded, but she bit back on the urge to rush to the front door and fling it open. Outside the windows it was dusk now, the sun having dipped below the distant hills while she dealt with the children.

  “Fire,” she murmured to Cecil, gripping her skirts tight. “And it’s after dark. Are we meant to go running into the street to see what’s burning?”

  “Undoubtedly.” Determination set his jaw. “We won’t, though. Not unless they try to burn this place down around us.”

  She shuddered. To be forced to choose between deaths—one of smoke and flames, or one of blood and fangs. “If it comes to that—”

  “We fight,” he interrupted. “By God, woman, we’ll all fight.”

  They would, down to the last man, woman and child. “Let’s gather up the weapons we have and—”

  A chilling voice pierced the night. “Who speaks for Crystal Springs?”

  Too clear to be a ghoul, unless it was a vampire speaking directly through one. Cecil grabbed Grace’s hand and whispered, “Lock the door behind me and stay with everyone else.”

  “No.” She twisted to catch his wrist, the truth so clear that her voice didn’t even shake. “If it comes to a fight, you’re the only one with experience enough to give anyone hope. They need you here.”

  “Bullshit.” He hissed the word. “Girl, those are vampires outside. A quick death is the best you can hope for. I’m going.”

  Grace leaned closer and caught his gaze. Held it. Fear had burned away all her masks, and that steely sense of purpose overcame fear. “We need time. Time for Archer and Diana to take care of whatever trap the vampires have sprung and come for us. Because they will come for us. And I can buy us time.”

  Cecil grasped her shoulders—hard. “You promise, or Archer’ll rip me apart himself.”

&
nbsp; The man’s fingers might leave bruises—and the reminder of bruises brought all the inspiration she needed. Amazing how quickly her mind turned to deception, but she couldn’t regret it now. “I need the key to Doc’s house. It should be on the desk in Archer’s room.”

  She pulled free of him and tore at the pins in her hair, dragging the knot out so that her hair tumbled down in an unkempt tangle. While he hurried upstairs with hitching steps, Grace rumpled her clothing and yanked open her jacket. She was less gentle with the neckline of her blouse, tearing it enough to show off the bruises and bite marks at her throat.

  Cecil reappeared with the key. Grace tucked it between her breasts, and there was no time for more preparation—only an entrance that sold her story. “Open the door and push me out. Lock it behind me.”

  Cecil hesitated. “Grace—”

  “Just do it.”

  Diana crouched behind a boulder. “That’s it. Around the corner… Is that fire?”

  It looked like lantern light, or maybe a torch. “One thing’s sure. We won’t find out way back here.” Archer pulled both his sidearms and crept from behind the stone.

  The opening into the cave was reminiscent of the tunnel the vampires and their ghouls had forged into Doc’s cellar. Rough around the edges, crumbling into roughly discarded stones that skittered under Diana’s boots when she eased through the opening.

  It should have brought someone—or something—running. Instead, silence echoed through the cavernous inner chamber.

  “I don’t like it,” she whispered. “Our possible trap just turned probable.”

  “So be ready,” Archer advised, then made his way carefully down, deeper into the cave.

  Labyrinthine corridors wound down, deep into the ground if his instincts and the steady drip of groundwater were any indication. When the torches lighting the corridor became fewer and fewer, he dragged a chemical handtorch from his bag and ignited it. It wouldn’t set anything aflame, but the steady glow had been designed to imitate sunlight, a handier weapon than fire.